Not Alone
by gahhMinerva
Summary: Sequel to "Fallen Lioness". Minerva faces a long, difficult recovery after a brush with death. With Albus now at her side, will he be able to make the journey easier? ADMM, but the focus is not on their romantic relationship.
1. After a Long Night

**Disclaimer:** Characters and other recognizable things from the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling.

**A/N: **This is a direct sequel to one of my previous fics, "Fallen Lioness" (completed in 2007). It could probably stand alone beyond the first couple paragraphs, so it isn't a big deal if you haven't read it.

**Summary: **Minerva faces a long, difficult recovery after a brush with death. _[Spoiler Alert for "Fallen Lioness"]_ Following a suicide attempt, the physical consequences prove to be much less of a challenge to surmount than her emotional healing. With Albus now at her side, will he help make the journey easier? ADMM, though their romantic relationship is not the focus. Possible trigger warning for depression and mention of suicide.

* * *

**Not Alone**

Chapter 1: After a Long Night

"All right, don't overexert yourself now," Madam Pomfrey scolded her patient and visitor, despite smiling lopsidedly at the both of them.

Minerva McGonagall's eyes shot wide open as her long-time friend, Albus Dumbledore, sprang his face off of hers. For a moment, she was transported to a blissful fantasyland where she felt no pain and bore no worries.

Slowly, the physically crippling aches returned. Minerva's head throbbed, her throat felt like it had been scathed by some corrosive substance, and, worst of all, her stomach felt like it had been ripped out and replaced the wrong way. Just what kind of damage did she do to her body by overdosing on a potion?

"Thank Merlin you're all right. You had a close call there, Minerva," Madam Pomfrey said solemnly. "So many things could have happened to you… Fortunately, your body knew it had taken too much."

Minerva realized that was why her stomach hurt so badly; it reflexively rid itself of as much of the potion as possible.

"You are severely weakened at this point, and I fear your immune system is a bit compromised at this point. You eventually seemed to stop responding to my spells that are designed to work with your natural defenses. I want to keep you here for a few days, at least."

Minerva nodded. She was in no position to argue. Albus would back up Poppy's decision, and she didn't know how to deal with this pain anyway. She grimaced involuntarily, and the mediwitch knowingly understood what was wrong.

"I imagine you're feeling pretty sick to your stomach right now," she said, and the patient affirmed the statement. "It's going to take a while for it to recover fully. Not only did it go through some serious overexertion, but the ingredients of the potion undoubtedly did a number on it."

"How long?"

Poppy thought for a moment.

"Well… you should feel normal again within one or two months, but it could take three or four for the damage to heal completely."

That was much longer than she expected. She certainly hoped that she wouldn't feel this badly for the whole of two months.

"How can we ensure the speediest recovery?" Albus asked. He had taken to stroking Minerva's dark locks, which had long since fallen out of her customary bun. Clearly, he wanted her to suffer for the least amount of time possible.

"Rest—a _lot_ of rest."

"I believe you," Minerva said. Even the simplest tasks like breathing or keeping her eyes open—things she was supposed to be able to do automatically—seemed a challenge.

"I mean it. I don't want you working for at _least_ a week, probably two. And I want you on bed rest even after I release you. No marking essays, no patrolling the corridors, and—I know you'll hate this one, Albus—not even attending staff meetings. You need to regain your strength.

"As you've probably deduced, you won't be able to eat normally for a while. The nausea and the abdominal pain especially—that will linger. I'll have you on a light, bland diet for the next few weeks. Now, you can take meals in the Great Hall if you'd like; we can arrange for the house elves to prepare special options for you. Of course, you are more than welcome to eat here or in your personal quarters.

"Last but not least, your body is fighting to repair itself. You will be more susceptible to contagious diseases, so be extra careful if you notice anyone around you is ill. If you think you've caught something, please see me immediately. I can't emphasize that point enough. If you get sick, that could set back your whole recovery, and I don't want that to happen. Magical overdoses are hell, plain and simple. There's nothing I can do to heal you faster. I'm sorry. I really wish I could. But all I can do is ask you to take care of yourself and to allow others to help you."

Minerva nodded, absorbing everything that Poppy told her. She felt completely awful, and it sounded like she'd remain miserable for weeks or even months. A long road lay ahead of her. Why hadn't she just died? Her life might be more of a hell than it had been a day ago.

"I will be here to help you through everything, my love." At least there was Albus. Finally, he would be there for it all. She tried to think positively. She had been given a second chance at life, right? The least she could do was try not to fuck it up.

"And Minerva—" The mediwitch bit her slightly trembling lip. "There's—there's more to your recovery, of course… and it's not really my specialty—I mean, I deal with fixing bodies—broken bones and the common cold and—not really with—with—well… I can get a psychological Healer from St. Mungo's if you want, but you have to want it. But I promise you I will do my damn best, Minerva. I care about you, you know?" Poppy was suddenly overcome with emotion, and she threw her arms around her patient, whom she had known since she started working at Hogwarts.

Minerva didn't know what to say. Should she apologize? She didn't mean to hurt her or anyone else. Honestly, she didn't think anybody would care much. She'd be one less person to deal with, and she was a lot to deal with lately. Now she saw this display from Poppy, and even Albus had cried. She couldn't help feeling guilty. What could she do? Tell her that she'll be fine? Hard to convince someone of that if she wasn't quite sure of it herself.

"Poppy, shh… it'll be all right." She tried anyway. "You don't need to find someone from St. Mungo's." Somehow, she found herself in the consoling position.

Madam Pomfrey pulled back.

"Okay… okay. If you're sure. But if you change your mind—let me know. And remember, if there's anything you need…"

"Anything at all…" Dumbledore added, reaching out to grasp her hand.

Minerva nodded weakly. She wanted to tell them that she knew, that she would let them know how they could help. The truth was she didn't know what she needed or if she would even keep the promise in the long run.

"Really, Minerva, I'll do anything for you." He seemed to choke out those words as the tears leaked out of his glistening blue eyes again. He struggled to hold back and muffle the sobs that began to wrack his body. The most powerful wizard in the world—the bravest, most brilliant man anyone knew—could not handle this.

The mediwitch ushered Albus away so as not to upset Minerva. She was exhausted. She had no idea how long she had been out, but still she felt like she could sleep for days. She looked around for some indicator of the time, but there weren't even windows in the room.

Poppy returned after a few minutes. She had a phial of an orange potion with her.

"I'm guessing you don't feel up for eating right now?"

The thought nauseated Minerva. She wasn't sure she had the strength even to lift a fork, or to chew, or to swallow, so she shook her head.

"When was the last time you ate? And I mean _really_ ate—Albus is… well, he told me you're not always eating as much as you should..."

"I—I had a little at lunch," Minerva said in a small voice, confessing that she had used a Vanishing Spell on most of her dinner. It wasn't that she was avoiding food, but her appetite had been nonexistent at times. Sometimes, it was just too much effort.

Poppy approached the bed and held up a potion.

"Drink this. It's a nutrient potion," she said. "I know it doesn't taste very good, but…" She gave an apologetic look.

"I need it. I know."

Minerva struggled to sit up in preparation to take the potion. She gratefully accepted Poppy's help, wincing in pain from the motion.

"All right. Let me have it."

Poppy pressed the phial to Minerva's thin lips, and, realizing how awful the thick liquid tasted, she downed it like a shot to get it over with before her gag reflex could take over. Swallowing it was a nightmare.

She didn't want to get sick. She hated being sick. Her stomach wasn't too thrilled about receiving the potion, though, and she took several deep breaths, hoping to gain control.

_Bloody hell, is everything going to be like this for the next two months? Fighting to keep the simplest things down?_

"Okay?" Poppy asked cautiously after a minute or two.

"Y-yeah," Minerva said uncertainly, sliding back down under the covers, swearing under her breath the whole time. "What time is it, anyway?"

"A little past three in the afternoon."

_Wow._ She had been out for about sixteen hours, at least. She wasn't sure how long she had been awake. An hour or two, she guessed.

"Albus cancelled your classes for today."

_It's Monday. Right._

"We haven't told the rest of the school anything yet. Just, well, Albus told Filius you're sick when he asked him to play the Headmaster role today."

Minerva nodded.

"He hasn't left the Hospital Wing at all, you know," Poppy said. "Wouldn't leave. Stayed up all night. Fire-called Filius this morning from my office and ran back to his chair outside your room."

She believed her. Albus had suddenly looked much older—dark circles under his eyes and a drained look due to stress, worry, and lack of sleep. It was then Minerva realized how much her own eyelids were drooping. Staying awake much longer would be nearly impossible.

"Tired?" Poppy asked.

"Mmhm," she murmured, leaning further into the fluffy white pillows. Before Poppy could get out another word, Minerva had fallen asleep.

Poppy exited the spacious private ward and stepped out into the main Hospital Wing to find the Headmaster slumped in the chair he had occupied for much of the night and morning. His head was bowed in his hands, slender fingers intertwined with his long white hair.

"She's asleep."

Albus nodded.

"I'm scared for her, Poppy. I'm afraid that I won't be able to do enough to help. I'm afraid that she'll—that she'll—do it again."

"We have to do our best. That's all we can do. And… that's all I know to say." She eyed him in concern. He needed to take care of himself, too.

"I'm not leaving."

"Albus…"

"I can't. I just can't, Poppy."

"The school needs you, too."

"I _know_… but I can't do it all right now."

With what felt like the weight of the world crashing down on his shoulders, the Headmaster buried his face in his hands, uncertain of how to proceed and afraid that he would fail to keep everything from falling apart.


	2. A Little Backup

**Not Alone**

Chapter 2: A Little Backup

"You don't have to do it alone, you know," a new voice squeaked.

Both Albus and Poppy turned their heads to see Filius Flitwick approach, with Pomona Sprout in tow. Their eyes shone with curiosity and concern. Never had they seen Dumbledore look so worn, and despite their being lost in the dark about the details of the situation, they knew it had to be because of whatever was the matter with Minerva McGonagall.

"What's happening, Albus? What's wrong with Minerva? And what can we do?" the tiny wizard asked.

Before Albus could say anything, Poppy ushered the lot of them into her office.

"Let's talk in here," she said, conjuring two extra chairs to join the one in front of her desk before taking a seat in her own. Once everyone had settled in, all eyes turned toward Albus.

He visibly shook as he struggled to find the words to say. It wasn't his place to reveal that their colleague had just tried to take her own life. It was up to her if she ever wanted to talk about it with them. After so long of hiding what led her to this point, Albus had no idea how long it would take for her to be ready to discuss her thoughts and emotions, and to admit that they led her down the dark road toward her suicide attempt. And, if concern for Minerva's feelings and respect for her privacy weren't enough for him to keep the details of her condition a secret, Poppy's mouthing of "patient confidentiality" was a deterrent.

"She is not well, Filius, but I can't say any more," he finally said, gravely enough to intensify the worry written across the two House Heads' faces.

"May we see her, Poppy?" Pomona asked, pained by the fact that there was something terribly wrong with her friend, yet she didn't even know what that something was.

"She's sleeping right now," Poppy said, "but I will let you know when she is ready for visitors. Please… don't count on it today."

Both Pomona and Filius nodded, understanding that their friend must be very ill. The four of them sat in silence for several minutes.

"Do you want me to look for a substitute to cover Minerva's classes, Albus?" Flitwick asked.

Albus seemed surprised at the question. He hadn't even thought of letting anybody else take over Minerva's lessons. For some reason, it just didn't seem right.

"I'll take them," he said impulsively, suddenly feeling three sets of eyes bore into him questioningly.

"Are you _sure?_"

The incredulous expressions on their faces were enough to make him second-guess himself. Poppy, knowing the best of all of them what might lie ahead, leered most inquisitively at the Headmaster.

"…No," he said resignedly. "I'm not sure if I'm sure about anything."

With his life and perspective thrown upside-down in the course of a single night, Dumbledore did not know how well he could trust his judgment right now. He had been running on adrenaline and acting out of sheer instinct for the past several hours; now, he had a lot of things to think through carefully. He did not feel that he could afford to make even the smallest erroneous decision, but he was not confident that he was of soundest mind or of adequate preparation to know what to do. Never would he have guessed that he would face his current situation.

"Headmaster, if I may offer my opinion," Madam Pomfrey interjected, "you should probably take Filius up on his offer. In all likelihood, Minerva will not be teaching for the next few weeks, and I imagine that you will find yourself quite busy with your typical responsibilities while actively supporting Minerva through her recovery—assuming you want to, that is. I'm under the impression that you plan to play a large role; am I correct?"

Albus pursed his lips and nodded. If he could do everything for Minerva right now, he would.

"All right. Filius, please find a suitable substitute. Hopefully we will not need one for too long. Find someone for at least one week—right, Poppy?"

"Probably two."

"Two weeks it is. Starting tomorrow?" Filius asked.

"Yes, please, if possible. Minerva will rest easier knowing that her students are not falling behind," Albus said.

"Will do. It's already late in the day—I should work on this immediately," Filius said and headed toward the door. "Please keep me in the loop, and if you need anything else, please let me know."

The Headmaster and mediwitch nodded their heads at him as he walked out of the room.

"Is there anything I can do?" Professor Sprout asked as soon as Filius left.

Albus and Poppy looked at each other. _They_ barely even knew what to do.

"We'll let you know," Poppy said. "Honestly, we still have to figure a lot of things out. We have to see how Minerva fares this week and for a while to come. When we know more, and when Minerva is able to see others, then we'll all know better how to proceed from here."

"But just—_be there_ for her," Albus fervently added. "_We'll_ be okay, but—but—" He found himself choking up again. Minerva _wasn't_ okay, and he didn't know if and when she would be.

"We'll be in touch," Poppy said tersely and began to usher Professor Sprout out of the office. With Albus apparently unstable and exhausted, it was up to the mediwitch to take charge of the situation. The best course of action, she thought, would be to calm him down sooner rather than later—or at the very least, let him break down privately.

The latter was imminent. Before Poppy could even return from escorting Pomona out, Albus was gasping for breath over uneven sobs with his face down on the desk. The image of Minerva's tortured, tear-stained face as she downed the contents of the flask flashed in his mind's eye. He could feel her writhing, barely conscious, as her body fought to rid itself of poison, while he prayed to all the gods he knew that she wouldn't choke on her own vomit as he struggled to bring her to the Hospital Wing.

_What if she tries to hurt herself again as soon as she's released? _Albus worried. _What if this time in the infirmary just gives her time to sink deeper and plot another way to—to—to—shit, and what if I can't do enough to stop her? What if I try to do too much and she pushes me away?_

The awful truth was that he had no real understanding of what Minerva was experiencing. He had no idea of the thoughts that went through her head, the (flawed?) logic that gave them weight, or of her responses to all of them. He bore witness to _one_ reaction to the terrible thoughts she harbored, but if it weren't for that, he would still have absolutely no idea that she was suffering so much at all. If he was so clueless as to the mere _existence_ of a problem of this magnitude, how could he know how to help solve it?

"I'm useless," Albus murmured to himself, just as Madam Pomfrey returned to her office.

"Don't say that," Poppy said. "You're not."

"Are you sure? I don't honestly know how to help her. I can try to pay more attention and try to provide her with what she needs if she tells me, but really, what else can I do? I don't know. I can't fix this. I don't even _understand_ this. We both know that Minerva is a perfectly levelheaded, intelligent, rational person, and if it weren't for this—this _thing_ clouding her vision, she wouldn't believe that her life was worthless. How the hell do we cure her mind?"

Poppy looked taken aback by his intense _realism_. As much as she was trying to be calm, collected, and confident that everything would be okay, she knew that Albus had a point.

"I—I don't know," she answered, horribly sobered by the thought.

Albus was frustrated by their combined lack of knowledge. Throughout all of their years of working at Hogwarts, they still had not learned how to handle this type of situation. Surely, at the most prestigious school for witchcraft and wizardry, where despite the many great perks of the institution, mental health issues arose from time to time. How many students or staff members fell prey to these problems? How many could have benefited from someone trained to help them cope and heal? It suddenly seemed as if they had done a great disservice by lacking such resources.

"Poppy, are we failing Minerva if we _don't_ seek help from a specialist at St. Mungo's? What if this beyond us?"

Madam Pomfrey looked conflicted.

"I _want_ Minerva to see a psychological Healer, but if she doesn't want to, then I can't force her. I just can't. She's an adult. Maybe if she were a student, but…"

Albus sighed heavily.

"I know we can't make her do anything, but I feel so irresponsible if we don't push her to do something."

"I'll—I'll talk to her about it more," Poppy said. "Today doesn't seem like a good day to press, though. I don't want to overwhelm her."

"Okay." As much as Albus wanted everything to get better faster, he knew that things would take time, and he would need a lot of patience.

"And Albus?"

The headmaster looked expectantly at the mediwitch.

"Please remember to take care of yourself, too. It looks like we're in for a long journey."

Albus nodded. Today was just the first out of what would likely be many uncertain, difficult days. No matter how long it would take, he vowed that he would be there for Minerva throughout all of it.

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**A/N:** Thank you for reading, and an extra thank you to those who have reviewed so far!


	3. Release

**Not Alone**

Chapter 3: Release

"Are you all right? Is this comfortable for you?"

Albus Dumbledore fluffed the pillows around Professor McGonagall's head as she settled under the covers. After a week under the care and watchful eye of Madam Pomfrey, she was finally released from the Hospital Wing and allowed to continue her recovery in the comfort of her personal quarters. Although annoyed that Poppy insisted that she stay on bed rest for one more week, she was grateful to leave the stark white walls and sheets of the infirmary.

"Yes, this is fine. Thank you."

A silence fell between them. They had played this scene many times in the past few days: Minerva lay quietly in bed, her mind whirring with thoughts, while Albus sat beside her, lightly holding her hand. They didn't know what to say. Albus was afraid to push her too hard with questions or overwhelm her with reminders of his care, but he also could not act like everything was normal and ignore why they were even where they were in the first place. As much as he wanted to share everything he thought, he knew that he needed to be mindful of how she would receive him.

In contrast, Minerva wished to keep most of her musings to herself. How could she worry or hurt Albus with the pain her mind gave her? He was already burdened enough by her. As far as he had to know, she was interested in getting better and returning to a state of normalcy. Why tell him about her doubts? Why cause him any more worry? She was unworthy of his concern anyway.

"Have you given any more thought to Poppy's advice?" Albus probed gently. At least once a day, he would bring up the subject. He did not want to press her, but by no means would he show a lack of encouragement.

"About St. Mungo's?" Minerva asked, even though they had been over this before.

"Yes."

"Do you really think it's necessary?"

"Maybe they can help you. I—I don't know much about the specifics of it, but if it will help, then I think it's worth it."

"I honestly don't see how talking to some stranger is supposed to help me."

"Well—it _could_ help. It must help some people; otherwise, they wouldn't recommend it. Have you ever tried to talk to someone about anything? I think that it might be beneficial for you. I might not know what you're going through, but—for me, at least—I find it therapeutic to talk about things that trouble me."

Minerva sighed.

"I—I just don't think that I can be helped."

Albus's heart broke. How could she say that? Could she truly believe that she's beyond repair? Surely there was _something_ that could get her to see herself for who she actually was. There had to be a way for her not to have to live with such terrible thoughts and emotions. He believed that the storm cloud over her could be lifted.

"Please don't say that," Albus said in a small voice and bit his lower lip.

"Sorry."

But it was the truth to her. For decades, she lived like this—feeling inadequate and wholly undeserving of everything she achieved in her life. When would everyone realize she was a fraud? She was not the wonderful, intelligent, admirable person that others seemed to pretend she was. She was actually a worthless, terrible excuse for a human being. Right? That's what her brain reminded her every day, so it was hard not to believe it by now.

_Hell, I'm so pathetic that I can't even be handle or appreciate the good life I've managed to have. I should be happy, right? But I'm so useless that I can't even be happy when things are good. I deserved to die. I couldn't even do that. And now I'm just a fucking drain on Albus and Poppy and the whole school._

"I love you, Minerva. I want you to be all right."

_And I certainly, certainly do not deserve his love._

"I'm sorry I'm so useless," she said. "You deserve better."

"What? Minerva… you're not useless. My dear, you could _never_ be useless," Albus said emphatically. "And you _can_ be helped. _I_ want to help you. Poppy, Filius, Pomona—they all want to help you. The _whole school_ wants you to get better! We all believe in you." He gestured at the cards and flowers that covered her dresser, nightstand, and fireplace mantle.

_If everyone knew that I had tried to commit suicide, they wouldn't think so fondly of me_, Minerva thought bitterly.

"Please, Minerva… what's holding you back from giving professional treatment a chance?"

Minerva averted her eyes. She couldn't tell him the real reason—that she wasn't sure she _wanted_ to get better. She definitely didn't _deserve_ to, and who's to say that she even _could_ get better? What if she was simply meant to live like this forever? She could put in the effort, but ultimately, it might not change anything. And maybe there wasn't actually anything _to_ change. Was it really wrong to feel and think what she did? Obviously, it upset others when they knew what went on inside of her (not that she could honestly claim she liked it), but it wasn't their problem. At least, it shouldn't be anyone else's problem, and she hated herself for letting Albus make it his.

"I…I'm scared," she said after a long pause. That was true. She had never talked about her innermost problems in detail with anybody. What would a therapist try to bring out of her? Or what sorts of potions would a Healer prescribe to her? They would try to make her "normal"—but what did that even mean?

Albus more securely laced his fingers with hers and looked her square in the eyes, which had avoided his throughout their exchange. He saw fear, pain, and seemingly inconsolable sadness. They lacked their bright luster that usually made her face so radiant, and he could not remember the last time he saw their customary shine.

"Would it be easier if I went with you?" he asked. "Or Poppy, maybe?"

"I don't know. I—I think that it's something I'd have to do alone."

"You don't _have_ to go alone. But if that's how you feel, then I respect that," Albus said. He began to ponder deeply before finally asking, "What _would_ help you feel more comfortable with the idea of going to see someone at St. Mungo's?"

Minerva shrugged.

"Anonymity?" She spoke as if she was almost joking, but if she _could_ seek treatment unknown and unnoticed, that might make her feel a little better.

Albus opened his mouth to respond but reconsidered. He acknowledged that privacy was a real concern. It was not as if mental health services were fully integrated with general care; like other specialized areas of medicine, St. Mungo's had a particular wing for it. If by chance someone who knew her saw her when she headed to an appointment with a Healer or counselor, they might pass judgment. Most people did not have a good understanding of mental illnesses. _He_ did not have a good understanding, either, but now he had a whole new perspective on it.

"You shouldn't have to feel ashamed or embarrassed," he said, "but maybe Poppy has some ideas. Perhaps there is a way to bring someone here."

Minerva nodded. Although she was not thrilled by the idea of seeing someone about her problems, she would be more willing to give it a try if she could do it at Hogwarts.

"I'll talk to her about it later," Albus said. "In the meantime, is there anything you need? Anything I can do?"

Minerva shook her head.

"I'd prefer to be alone right now, actually."

"Okay," Albus said reluctantly. He squeezed her hand and kissed her temple before rising to go. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Albus."

The older wizard offered a weak smile and showed himself out. He felt guilty for leaving her, even if she asked him to.

Minerva waited until he heard him exit before letting herself release all of her pent up emotion. She spent a week trying to be "strong" for Albus and Poppy (she refused to let anyone else see her) so that perhaps they would not feel so afraid for her. This meant that no matter how much she wanted to break down and cry throughout her stay in the Hospital Wing, she could not. It wore her out.

Now, she finally had some time to herself. She tossed onto her side and buried her face in a fluffy red pillow. Immediately, her throat felt tight and tears began to stream out of her eyes. She hated herself—for screwing up her friends and colleagues' lives, for being a worthless failure, for being so goddamn _weak_. _Normal_ people weren't slaves to their feelings. Why couldn't she just get over herself and stop throwing pity parties in her bedroom or office all the time? She had _no real reason_ to feel like she did. She was just _pathetic_.

_Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic_, she thought on repeat, wanting to scream in agony as if it could free her from the body and mind that tortured her. Instead, her sobs just grew harder and wracked her body with each gasp for air she took. Her face and pillowcase quickly became soaked, and she yanked off her tear-streaked glasses and shoved them onto the nightstand so she could further burrow into the pillows.

These episodes were not uncommon previously, but somehow it felt different now. Something about her suicide attempt—a chance at death, perhaps—killed part of her will to fight. She didn't even care to stop crying or to try and block the thoughts that demoralized her; it seemed pointless. All she wanted to do—well, not really _wanted_ but, rather, felt she _could_ do—was let the misery consume her.

If before she wasn't already a shell of her fiery, confident self (someone she could hardly remember), she certainly was now. She wasn't sure if she could muster up the strength to keep up her usual façade and _pretend_ to be as invested in everything as she used to be. It seemed to take an incredible amount of effort just to appear _neutral_ toward her life.

The only thing Minerva thought she _could_ still find some passion for was teaching. When she was in front of a classroom giving a lecture or working individually with students to help them master a technique, she felt like she was good for something. Being bedridden for the past week drove her crazy. Not only did she feel lazy and useless, she was afraid that she could be replaced all too easily. Of course there would always be people who could perform as substitute teachers, but Minerva feared, more and more as the days passed by, that if she didn't seem adequately well fast enough, then her colleagues would lose faith in her. Her substitute could turn into her permanent replacement.

_An upgrade, even_, Minerva thought dejectedly, _someone who isn't as broken and unreliable as I am._

Maybe, if she could somehow convince Poppy and Albus to let her teach again sooner, then she could feel somewhat right again. Beyond merely making her go stir-crazy, being forbidden from working made her feel more insignificant day by day. How was doing _nothing_ supposed to help her? Physically, she was better than she was a few days ago, and despite as sick as she still felt, she was sure that she was not _incapable_ of teaching. Surely there was _something_ productive that she should be allowed to do, right?

Albus and Poppy were always asking her what she needed, and Minerva thought that she needed feel _useful_. Feeling the slightest bit more hopeful about her situation, she decided that she would discuss with them later the possibility of her returning to work.


	4. Insistence

**A/N: **Thanks to all of you who have read and reviewed so far. I enjoy reading your comments. Sorry for the delay in updating—I admit that I can be absolutely terrible in completing chapters to my liking. (I am much better at shorter works, hence why I primarily write poetry…) Anyway, on to Chapter 4!

* * *

**Not Alone**

Chapter 4: Insistence

Minerva was sat upright in her bed, arguing with the school mediwitch, who had come for an evening checkup. Madam Pomfrey outright rejected the professor's request to return to work so soon.

"I am not completely _debilitated_ by this, Poppy," Minerva huffed. "Would you actually take a moment to consider it?"

Poppy sighed.

"Minerva… you really should take some more time off. Like I said, your body—"

"Never mind my body; I simply can't bear to remain so _inactive_ like this," Minerva cut in. "Besides, I have been on bed rest in my quarters for a week now. I think I can handle teaching a few classes."

"Can you honestly say that you are feeling well enough to resume teaching already? Personally, I think you should wait longer..."

"_Yes_," Minerva insisted. "Poppy, seriously, I really need to do this."

Madam Pomfrey hesitated.

"I just don't think it's a good idea. You're still barely eating, you're still—"

"Half days."

"What?"

"I said, '_half days_,'" Minerva repeated. She was willing to compromise right now. Poppy was not one to back down when it came to medical decisions, and she was likely to bring along Dumbledore to back her up should the argument continue. At this point, he would be likely to side with Poppy, at least until he felt more confident that Minerva was all right.

Poppy raised her eyebrows and appeared to ponder about it.

"Maybe," she said at last.

"Maybe?"

"Starting Friday. I want you to have at least a couple more days."

Perhaps this was the best she could get.

"Fine," Minerva agreed, "but do I literally have to stay in bed the whole time?"

Poppy rolled her eyes in amusement.

"No, but only if you _take it easy_. Please. I mean it."

"I will. I promise."

"Okay," Poppy said. "Now, would you like to head down to the Great Hall for dinner? I bet everyone will be happy to see you again."

Minerva had taken all of her meals privately for the past week. Even though Poppy gave her the option of going to the Great Hall after her first couple days in the Hospital Wing, she declined the offer every time. She chalked it up to feeling too ill, but truthfully, her reason was more related to her reluctance to let her colleagues and students see her in so fragile a state. Today, however, she felt the smallest bit more willing now that she knew she could actually do _something_ soon.

"All right."

She climbed out of bed without too much difficulty, wincing only slightly as she pulled herself out from under the covers and stepped onto the floor. She walked over to her wardrobe to grab a set of robes to change into before heading downstairs.

"I'll be just a second," she said, and Poppy left to give her some privacy and waited patiently in the sitting room.

Minerva emerged from the bedroom wearing her customary emerald green robes with her hair pulled back into a tight bun. Somehow, she did not appear as strict as she typically did. Perhaps the hesitance she felt at facing everyone again removed all of the severity from her face.

"Shall we?" Poppy asked.

Minerva nodded. They quietly exited Minerva's private chambers and headed toward the Great Hall. As they walked through the corridors, she felt liberated in a way; after weeks stuck in bed, strolling the familiar halls of Hogwarts were like a step toward freedom—freedom from the constraints of mandatory bed rest, at least.

They arrived at the Great Hall. Minerva paused in the large doorway and took in a deep breath and the sight before her. Nearly everyone was present already, and with all of them was the familiar buzz of hundreds chatting and silverware clanging. She hoped to make a discreet entrance, but a few Gryffindor heads turned toward her and immediately expressed their surprise and delight.

"_Professor McGonagall!_" several students from Gryffindor House exclaimed, causing almost every student and staff member to look in her direction. Excitement stirred up throughout the room, and Minerva managed a weak smile as she strode toward the Head Table. Hearing so many happy voices at her presence and claims that she'd been missed was overwhelming. It was all so odd, so unbelievable that everyone would respond like this. The attention was unnerving.

"Everyone here cares about you, you know," Poppy whispered in Minerva's ear as they passed by the student tables.

She didn't respond. She didn't know _how_ to respond. Frankly, she actually tried to ignore it all; her instincts told her to shut everyone out. By the time she reached her chair at the staff table, she was exhausted from forcing a convincing-enough smile while silently deflecting all of the kind words she couldn't believe.

Albus had stood to pull out the Deputy's chair and patiently awaited her to reach him. He offered a nearly watery grin at her arrival and helped her into her seat.

"It is wonderful to see you here tonight, my dear," he said, his voice thick.

"It's—it's good to be here." At least, it was good to be out of bed. Otherwise, her first meal in the Great Hall was already quite uncomfortable.

"I've missed you."

Minerva shot him a confused glance.

"You've seen me every day."

"I know, but—I've missed _you_."

Minerva remained silent as she busily stirred her spoon through her soup. She knew what he meant. He missed the "old" Minerva: the spirited, animated professor and deputy headmistress, always at his side. In every way she lacked that energy now, and maybe it had been waning for a long time.

Luckily, her other colleagues interrupted her thoughts and their conversation. She did not wish for Albus to grow emotional, and it seemed he was getting close.

"How are you feeling, Minerva? You must've been quite ill; we were rather worried, actually," Pomona Sprout said, gesturing toward Filius Flitwick beside her, who nodded in agreement.

"Not terribly," Minerva replied politely. The other two Heads of House continued to make friendly conversation with her, and she made sure to respond when necessary, although her contributions were terse. Small talk was never quite her forte, anyway.

Just as the chatter around her sounded only like background noise, a brusque voice pierced the lull.

"So, what was wrong with you?" Rolanda Hooch, never the most tactful, asked a bit too loudly. Minerva could feel several eyes turn toward her.

"Excuse me?" she said breathlessly, as if the question knocked the wind out of her. Someone was bound to ask that question, but she did not prepare an answer for it. She absentmindedly tore up a piece of freshly baked bread between her fingers while heat crept into her face and her thoughts raced.

_Couldn't Albus or Poppy have offered some made-up explanation to the staff better than a vague "illness" in the past two weeks?_ Minerva mentally grumbled. What was she supposed to do? Leap up onto the table and shout, "Well, Rolanda, I overdosed on a strong concussion healing potion! Unfortunately, I survived, and now not only do I feel like shit in every way imaginable, my boss and the school nurse look at me like I'm going to try to off myself again at any moment"? It almost seemed like a good idea. Then everyone would realize just how much of a failure she was.

"Now, let's not invade Minerva's privacy…" Albus tried to intervene.

"What? We all know she's been ill, and we all know each other pretty well, so—"

"It's still none of your business," Poppy hissed through her teeth, attempting to silence the flying instructor, but Minerva was already itching to disappear. As good of company as Rolanda could be sometimes, she could also be quite audacious, stubborn, and nosy, and tonight she seemed to be the latter.

Just as Rolanda was about to argue some more, Minerva took to her Animagus form and dashed under the table and out of the Great Hall. Forget courtesy, forget saving face—she needed to be alone again. Everything was a blur as she sprinted past the student tables and through the large doors. Once in the corridors, she bolted toward the marble staircase in the entrance hall and bounded up the steps as quickly as she could. Her office was the closest sanctuary.

When she ascended the last step, she slowed her pace, the adrenaline and her energy stores having diminished. Perhaps running in her cat form was not the best idea. Her four legs wobbled beneath her as her strength faded.

"Minerva!" a voice called from below. It was Albus. Minerva could hear his heeled boots click rapidly across the stone tile.

_Merlin, I hope Poppy isn't with him,_ she thought while involuntarily reverting to her human form. Now on her hands and knees, she panted and felt altogether dizzy and nauseated like she had just completed a marathon she shouldn't have run in the first place. Against her fervent wishes, she ducked her head and retched onto the floor. Surely Poppy would usher her back to the Hospital Wing and reverse her previous decision about teaching if she saw this display.

"Minerva!" Albus hurried to the weakened witch and knelt down beside her. He cast a quick _Scourgify_ before placing one hand on her back and using the other to tilt her face toward his. "Are you okay?"

Minerva nodded despite herself.

"Poppy says you mustn't transform yet. Or run so fast, probably."

"I believe her," she muttered. "Let's go to my office."

Albus helped her stand up again, and the two walked the short distance to the Transfiguration professor's office.

"Tartan tabby."

Minerva entered and automatically took her place behind her large cherry desk. Unconcerned with the stack of parchments squarely in front of her, she pulled her rectangular glasses off and rested her forehead upon the papers. Albus had followed her inside and shut the door. Instead of sitting in one of the straight-backed chairs opposite Minerva, he went around and half-stood, half-sat at the edge of the desk beside where her head laid.

He was not quite sure what to say; all he knew was that he should be there with her. He pursed his lips and sighed internally. Although a _quiet_ dinner in the Great Hall was definitely out of the question, prying questions for all to hear were not what exactly what he expected of his staff for Minerva's return to school meals. Over the past several days, he had tried to emphasize respect for Minerva's privacy whenever anyone asked about her health with an "I can't tell you" or a "That is Minerva's business." The questions were well intentioned, he was sure, or at worst, stemmed from mere curiosity, but they did get tiresome. He wondered how it must have felt for her.

Albus gazed sadly at the back of the witch's head. Her breaths were even, so she was certainly not crying, but she surely was not sleeping, either. Was he supposed to wait for her to say something? Or was _he_ supposed to break the silence? He had not yet figured out what to do when he knew she was upset.

_What would I want if I were in her shoes?_ Albus asked himself. He thought hard, but the problem was that he simply could not put himself in the exact same situation. He really had no idea how to imagine what it was like to be Minerva right now. Never had he been there, and he still wasn't completely sure how she _got_ all the way down there.

"I'm sorry I made a scene," Minerva whispered, her face still buried in a pile of essays.

"You didn't make a scene," the older wizard replied calmly. He could not see the famous eye roll in response.

"Of course not, professors always run away from their dinners."

Albus smirked and chuckled lightly.

"There will be something else for everyone to talk about tomorrow." With no response, Albus assumed he had not yet convinced her, so he added, "It's _Hogwarts_, my dear."

"Perhaps you're right."

Minerva slowly pulled her head up and put her glasses back on. She turned to look up at Albus.

"Thank you for coming after me."

"Well, it was either me or Poppy, and—" Minerva grimaced at the thought—"I knew you'd rather it not be Poppy."

"Right you were. She has been a bit _too_ overbearing sometimes…"

Albus shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"Surely you understand why, Minerva," he said softly.

"It doesn't make it any less frustrating," she sighed. "At least she's letting me teach half days starting Friday."

"So soon?" Albus asked, clearly surprised.

"I insisted. I know she'd probably rather me wait an extra week—"

"—and I'm apt to agree with her—"

"—but I _need_ it. I need to do something I still care about doing."

For a moment, Albus saw a familiar spark in her bright green eyes. It faded as quickly as it appeared, but Albus knew what he saw, and he knew that this was important.

"If this is something you need, then I fully support you."

"It is."

"Okay."

Albus straightened up and extended his arms out for a hug. Minerva accepted and took one of his hands to assist her in standing, and she let herself relax in the softness of his purple robes as she became enveloped in a pair of strong arms. Her too-thin frame was tangible beneath her thick robes, and Albus tightened his embrace, as if afraid she'd disappear if he didn't hold on.

"Please take care of yourself, my dear. I know it's been hard, but… you matter."

"I'm trying," Minerva murmured.

"That's all I ask."

They pulled apart, and they briefly stared into each other's eyes. Albus offered a small smile, which Minerva managed to return just before breaking into a long yawn. Between the stunt she just pulled and her sheer existence, she was mentally and physically exhausted.

"Tired?"

Minerva nodded.

"Then let's go up to your rooms, shall we?" Albus gently kissed her forehead and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and the two headed to Gryffindor Tower at the end of a trying evening.


	5. The Swing of Things

**Disclaimer:** Anything you recognize from _Harry Potter_ does not belong to me.

**A/N: **Hello and welcome to new readers! And a big thank you to returning readers and those who have left reviews, favorited, or followed this story. You all rock!

* * *

**Not Alone**

Chapter 5: The Swing of Things

Phoebe Fawcett, former Hogwarts student, tidied the Transfiguration classroom early Friday morning in preparation for Professor McGonagall's arrival. Although she was a neat person herself, she had developed her own system of organization over the past couple weeks, and she hoped to return everything to the way the Transfiguration professor preferred to allow for a seamless transition back to teaching.

"Good morning, Miss Fawcett."

The younger witch looked up from the desk, and her expression immediately turned to delight when she saw who had greeted her from the doorway.

"Professor McGonagall! Good morning, how are you?" Phoebe said and bustled across the room to give her old professor a hug.

Although a bit surprised, Minerva returned the hug. She had many fond memories of Phoebe, Ravenclaw prefect and top of her class in both Transfiguration and Charms throughout her time at Hogwarts.

"Thank you, Miss Fawcett, I am well," she said. "How have you been since you finished your seventh year?"

"Well, I completed my Mastery in Transfiguration a few months ago," Phoebe said, beaming with pride. "I saw some job listings for teaching positions at Beauxbatons in France and Zauberschloss in Austria. I think I'm going to apply."

"That's fantastic; I wish you the best of luck."

"Er, yeah, about that…" She looked sheepish for a moment before continuing, "I need three letters of reference for my application, and I was wondering if you would write one for me. I know you've been ill and you're very busy and it's been nearly four years since I was your student, so I totally understand if—"

"_Phoebe_."

"Yes, Professor?" Interrupted, she ceased her rambling.

"Of course I am willing to write a letter for you."

Phoebe's eyes lit up with joy.

"Really? Oh, thank you, Professor McGonagall!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around Minerva again. "This is perfect; you make three—you, Professor Flitwick, and my Mastery mentor."

"You're welcome. I'm sure you will be an excellent applicant."

"Thanks, Professor. That means a lot." She smiled and then gestured toward the teacher's desk. "So, um, I was just tidying up a bit. I hope everything is in order. I kind of took up residence and worked out my own system, so… well, I'm sorry if anything is out of place now."

"Don't apologize. This classroom is just as much yours as it is mine while you're here. I'm sure I can manage if anything is a bit off compared to what I'm used to."

Phoebe nodded.

"Of course. Well, I suppose I should let you settle in—and I should fetch breakfast before the meal ends. Take care, Professor."

"You too, Miss Fawcett."

The girl grabbed her bag and swished out of the room, her royal blue robes playfully flapping around her ankles. Once she was out of sight, Minerva made her way behind the teacher's desk in front of the blackboard. She placed both hands on the back of the chair and inhaled deeply. _She was back_. Her lips hinted at a small smile.

She turned around and picked up a stick of chalk from the blackboard ledge. Normally, she would simply place all the notes up with a swish of her wand, but today she wanted to connect fully with teaching again. She wanted to experience _everything_—from the feeling of chalk dust on her hand to the sound of twenty quills scratching parchment. The weeks without it had been far too long, lonely, and idle.

Just as she placed the chalk down after filling the board with her neat cursive, students began to file into the classroom. The first lesson of the day was the seventh-year NEWT-level class.

To Minerva's surprise, every student had already arrived, and there were still ten minutes until the bell would ring, signifying the start of the first period. Nobody had taken seats in the back row, and a pair of students stood directly in front of her desk. They looked as if they were prepared to present something, but they shot glances at each other, as if unsure of who should start.

"Well, this is different," she said when the silence persisted. "I can't say I mind so far, though. What's going on?"

The girl who stood across from Minerva elbowed the ribs the tall, bespectacled beside her.

"Ow, Mackenzie," he muttered before speaking up. "Professor, we—we wanted to welcome you back." He spoke quickly, as if nervous to speak to Minerva in front of the entire class.

Mackenzie, the brown-haired girl who had nudged him, rolled her eyes and snatched something from her classmate's large robes pocket.

"We all wrote you a card," the girl elaborated, "because, well, you've been our teacher for over six years—and for some of us, our Head of House. We heard that you'd never missed more than two consecutive days throughout your entire career, so these past couple weeks have been unusual. We definitely thought a lot about you and were worried until Madam Fawcett told us yesterday that you're coming back. And, well, as much as we like Madam Fawcett, she's just not _you_."

She extended her arms forward, holding the aforementioned card in her hands. A hand-drawn picture on the front showed a tabby cat transform into a rather good representation of Minerva herself. Large, bold letters in red and gold read, "Welcome back, Professor McGonagall!"

"Are you trying to make your stern professor cry?" Minerva choked out, vigorously blinking back tears that threatened to fall. She took the card from Mackenzie and saw inside messages from every student in the class, as well as a few from friends in their year who were not pursuing the Transfiguration NEWT. "This is incredibly thoughtful, thank you all."

There were murmurs of _you're-welcomes_ and _no-problems_ among the students, but then the tall boy with glasses spoke up: "We're just glad to have you back, Professor."

"I am glad to be back too, Mr. Fitzpatrick," Minerva said, displaying a rare smile. The bell rang, and Mackenzie and Fitzpatrick immediately took their seats.

"Now, I missed teaching you lot, so let's begin, shall we?"

* * *

As promised, Minerva met with Madam Pomfrey after lunch. The checkups were routine now, with Poppy measuring things like blood pressure and heart rate and asking how she was feeling ("Okay," always). The locations had changed with time—from the private extended-stay ward in the Hospital Wing to her personal quarters and, now that she was back to work, the mediwitch's office.

"I talked to the Healers at St. Mungo's about options for your additional care," Poppy said.

"I'm listening."

"Well, there are a few things you could," the mediwitch began. "Of course, there is St. Mungo's, where there are a handful of specialists who could provide outpatient treatment. I know you are not thrilled by that idea, though.

"Second, there are licensed therapists in private practices in both Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. A few in particular have been recommended to me. Their buildings are rather unassuming, so it should not be obvious what your business there is. I know that keeping a low profile about this is a concern for you. If this sounds like something you might be willing to do, I can set up your first appointment for you.

"Lastly, you could see a Muggle psychologist or psychiatrist. This would be more complicated because we'd have to deal with the Muggle healthcare system, but it is doable. It would also be the most inconspicuous option, seeing as you'd be outside the Wizarding world.

"So, do you have any initial thoughts or questions?"

Minerva shrugged. The latter options were definitely more appealing than going to St. Mungo's, but she was still uncertain about the idea of therapy in general. She didn't know much about mental health services or anyone who ever received such treatment (if she did, she didn't know about it—which was a somewhat reassuring thought), so she couldn't really gauge how worth the time and effort it would be.

"I suppose I'd have to think about it more."

"That's fine. I didn't expect you to make any concrete decisions right now, but I wanted you to know what's out there," Poppy said. "Please think about it."

"Okay."

"Really, Minerva—please consider it," she added, switching from her professional to personal tone of voice. "I want you to feel better, and there are people out there who can help you better than I can."

"Okay."

She _would_ think about it, at least because these sorts of conversations always stuck on her mind for a while.

"How was teaching?" Poppy changed the subject.

"Good," Minerva replied and paused for a moment. "I felt… right again, I guess. I felt some sense of normalcy, at least."

Poppy bobbed her head up and down.

"That's good to hear." She sounded distant, as if distracted by other thoughts. "Have you plans for the rest of your afternoon?"

With her half-day work schedule completed, Minerva now had several free hours.

"No, not really. I suppose I'll sit in my office for a bit, have some tea."

"All right. Take it easy, Min."

Minerva nodded and slipped out of the office to exit the Hospital Wing. Afternoon classes had just begun, so the hallways were empty. On the way to her office, she decided to walk by the Transfiguration classroom, curious to witness Phoebe Fawcett's teaching of her subject. Although it would have been easier to observe unnoticed in her cat form, Minerva remembered Poppy's admonition and her experience after the debacle in the Great Hall a few days ago, so she decided against it.

The classroom door was cracked open ever so slightly, and Minerva could hear Phoebe speak about Vanishing spells to the fifth-year class. She stood quietly against the wall just outside the room and listened.

_Perhaps I'll start Miss Fawcett's letter_, Minerva mused after a few minutes. _The girl—young woman now—looks so comfortable up there already, and the students seem to respect her as an authority figure, even though they overlapped as students not too long ago. Granted, she was a sixth-year prefect by the time this set of students started at Hogwarts, but still, they could have been friends or Housemates._

Minerva smiled to herself, pleased with what she saw, and continued to her office. Immediately, she prepared a large cup of tea and then munched on a couple ginger newts while she began to draft a letter of recommendation on Phoebe Fawcett's behalf.

* * *

Later that evening, Albus and Minerva sat in the living room of the Gryffindor Head's quarters. Each quietly sipped a hot beverage—tea for Minerva and hot cocoa for Albus. The hour was late, and the clock ticked to ten minutes 'til 11. Albus was engrossed in a thick novel, but Minerva only stared blankly at the latest issue of _Charms & Transfiguration News_.

"I talked to Poppy today—or, rather, it was more like Poppy talked to me." Minerva said, breaking the silence.

"About?" Dumbledore asked, looking up from what he was reading.

"About…_seeing_ someone."

"Go on." He marked his page and shut the book.

"Well, she said that I have more options than just St. Mungo's, so that's good, I suppose."

"Are you going to take any of those options?"

"I don't know."

"Is that less opposition than 'no'?"

"I guess."

"What's holding you back?"

Minerva bit her lip and dropped her gaze to her hands fidgeting with the cover of the Transfiguration journal in her lap.

"I don't know. I mean—I do, I suppose, but I don't know how to put everything into _words_. I don't know if you'd understand."

Albus abandoned his book on his squashy red armchair and swept over to the space next to Minerva on the sofa. He took one of her delicate hands in his and looked directly into her eyes with his piercing blue ones.

"Try me."

Minerva sighed.

"Well—I don't know what I'd say, for starters. I don't have anything to _talk_ about. My life is perfectly _good_. Aren't I supposed to have some sort of _problem_? Who am I to feel like I do? I'm clearly just pathetic if I can't even handle having a great life."

"Maybe you could say that."

"What?"

"What you just said to me. Maybe that's what you could say."

"I don't know, Albus; I sounded kind of stupid," Minerva said, eyeing him skeptically.

"No, you didn't. You sounded honest," the wizard replied.

"Honesty and stupidity aren't mutually exclusive."

"Minerva."

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"So what do you say? Do you want to give it a try?"

Minerva groaned in frustration.

"I don't know."

"Come now, dear, what do you have to lose?"

She shrugged.

"Not much else, I guess."

Albus looked expectantly at her.

"Fine. I'll go talk to Poppy." She rose from her seat and deposited her copy of _C&T News_ on the coffee table.

"Wait, not right now, it's late, Minerva," Albus said and quickly reached for her hand before she could walk away. "We should go to bed. You can talk to her in the morning."

Minerva looked back at him exasperatedly.

"Albus, I have to go before I lose my nerve."

"Can I come with you, then?"

"Actually, I think I should do this alone."

Albus looked a bit put out.

"Oh. All right."

"I'll be back in half an hour or so. You don't have to wait up for me."

"You know I will anyway."

"I'll see you in a bit." Minerva let go of Albus's hand and strode out through Godric Gryffindor's portrait hole.


End file.
